


All the things you never said.

by Lestradesexwife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, challenge one, letswritesherlock, mention of mary morstan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Let's Write Sherlock Challenge 1: After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…</p><p>Without the sharing of a taxi ride or the arrival back at 221B... but with the "and then..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the things you never said.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for Reichenbach, and the aftermath.

The door of the cab snaps shut behind John. He checks the driver, pretending to send a text message, well actually does send a text message, containing only her name and license number. “The Savoy please.”

****

His mobile chimes a moment later, confirmation from Greg that the cabbie’s information has been entered into their makeshift data base. It isn’t much but it should give Greg somewhere to start looking if John doesn’t reach his destination. Moriarty is a creature of habit, he likes to play the same games over and over, and kidnapping is easy when your quarry goes willing into the car.

****

John feels a twinge of guilt as they pull up to the Savoy, in record time and without a single kidnap attempt or whispered threat. If it wasn’t practically suicidal he’d ask for her call number, make her a regular in his travel plans. Patterns will get them all killed, and even finding the one decent cabbie in all of London isn’t worth the risk to their plans.

****

He tips her generously and opens his door, checking her name again as he climbs out. “Ta very much, Mary.”

****

He bypasses the porters and the front desk, walking with purpose across the posh lobby. _God this is bloody ludicrous, what is he thinking?_

****

The room is empty when he arrives, and of course he would be made to wait. _John Watson, the doctor who waited_. He should have cards made up, or make a note to have it engraved on his tombstone.

****

He texts Greg again, calling off any search before it is begun.

****

He paces, the percussion of his feet muffled by the thick carpet. Texts Greg again to check on Mrs. Hudson. Hates that he had to leave her alone, he’d raged at that... offered to call Bill Murray, or even one of his rugby mates to stay with her. They’d overruled him, said that if any hint was made that they knew the game - and that has worked so well for us in the past hasn’t it... playing games - would be up. So she is alone but for a rotation of homeless network patrolling the street.

****

Greg doesn’t answer him, and he stops pacing. Staring at his mobile, hands steady and breathing deep, calm.

****

He’s standing at the window when the door finally opens, the reflection in the window is enough to make his hands clench at his sides.

****

“Jesus, you couldn’t even wear a fucking disguise? I thought this was meant to be a _covert_ operation... What was I supposed to tell Mrs. Hudson if she had bloody well _seen_ you?”

****

“She didn’t see me.” Sherlock unwinds his scarf, throws it over the back of a chair that probably cost more than John’s army pension for a month... possibly six months.

****

“Sherlock, I had to bloody _lie_ to her. She’s grieving and making plans to donate your things to a school.”

****

His eyes flash, “It isn’t safe for her to know. She’d tell Mrs. Turner, and then the married ones would know... might as well announce it on your blog. Did you tell her to leave my things alone?”

****

John has Sherlock pinned against the door before his thoughts catch up with his actions, “So it is fine for you to traipse around the cemetery where _**you are buried**_ but not for Mrs. Hudson to give away some bloody test-tubes? No, Sherlock, that is not on.”

****

He’s giving John _that_ look again, and even pinned against the door John knows that he has no control over Sherlock.

****

“What did you say? There was no one there to hear you... What did you say?”

****

John licks his lips and they both ignore the twitch of his cock, constrained as it is inside his jeans. “I... apologized for calling you a machine. Which seems premature actually. You are meant to be in hiding Sherlock. _Why_ would you go to the grave?”

****

“No one is looking for me.” Sherlock twists one of his hands free from where John has him pinned along his body, once he is free he hesitates for an instant, hand hovering over John’s shoulder. Then he shifts his feet and pulls against the hand John still has a grip on. John lets the air gust out of his lungs as the taller man envelopes him against the door. “What else did you say?”

****

“That I want this to be over, that I want you not to be dead.”

****

“You know I’m not dead John.” And apparently they aren’t ignoring the twitching hardness of John’s cock, because Sherlock is curled around John. His lips brush against John’s ear, “You’ve always known.”

****

John’s head drops back against the door, a muted thump against the heavy wood. “Sherlock, don’t... if you don’t mean it... _please_... I’m not angry with you. You don’t have to... to apologize.”

****

There is no space, no air between them as Sherlock drops his forehead against the wood beside John’s skull. Sherlock is a furnace inside his coat and John’s hands can’t help but wrap around Sherlock’s too thin frame inside the coat. Bury themselves in the silky heat between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and pull Sherlock closer. He feels like he could cease to exist inside the folds of Sherlock’s coat, melt into Sherlock until there is nothing left of him.

And that would be fine.

****

**********************

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I am posting this as a one off... but there is a plot bunny loose in the back of my brain with "and then..." written on it.


End file.
